He rang off and remained a minute or two lost in thought. Then he summoned Stevens.

“Do you think you could go out and buy me a pistol, Stevens?”

“A pistol, sir?”

True to his training, Stevens betrayed no hint of surprise.

“What kind of a pistol would you be requiring?”

“The kind where you put your finger on the trigger and the thing goes on shooting until you take it off again.”

“An automatic, sir.”

“That’s it,” said Jimmy. “An automatic. And I should like it to be a blue-nosed one⁠—if you and the shopman know what that is. In American stories, the hero always takes his blue-nosed automatic from his hip pocket.”